Dust

And longer, she adds.

But she didn’t stop. 

And the fourth quarter 

got jammed.

Juniper pushed. She prodded. She kicked and she cussed. And then, Emily Spears, aged five and three quarters, Human child, Woke up.

Juniper panicked. What if she screams? What is she cries? 

Juniper took stock, and a deep breath. With two Central Incisors securely tethered to her belt, and four quarters in place (more or less), and half a bag of Pixie Dust, there was no reason to panic. Yet she kept a hand in her pouch for a quick getaway, just in case.

But Juniper heard nothing from Emily. No screams, no cries. Only saw wonder and awe in the child’s eyes. And for once in her life, Juniper felt affection toward a human (An attraction she would later blame for impairing her judgment).

Touching the child’s warm cheek, she said, “You’re a cutey-pie,” and Emily smiled. Then, with a voice unmatched by a thousand-angel choir, Juniper sang to the girl:

Sleep a sweet sleep

Dream a sweet Dream

We’ll dance through the meadow

And hide in the trees

From the top of the staircase

To the dimples on your face

Treetop to root stem

One two three and back again

Your world to my world

My time to your time

A gift for small Emily

With love

From Juniper Brandywine

Of course, Emily understood none of the words. Juniper had expected the girl to fall back to sleep, but she hadn’t. Instead, she giggled and babbled in monotone grey; ugly sounds, like the ones always coming from Emily’s species, reminding Juniper of factories, pollution, and death; wrecking the moment — leaving Juniper feeling awkward, uncomfortable, and wanting to leave.

Filling her palm with Dust from her pouch, Juniper gave a wave before disappearing into an eddy of sparkling mist. 

At least, that was the plan. Only, she never got quite that far, because something happened. Something that, to Juniper’s knowledge, hadn’t happened for hundreds of years.

Something impossible.

The girl made more noise, lying there in bed. Only this time, Juniper understood the two words Emily said. 

Real words. 

Not perfect, not poetic, not wrapped the way Juniper’s mother had intended in beautiful, melodic phrase. But words, very real. Very real, just the same. 

And when Emily Spears, aged five and three quarters, said, “Juniper Brandywine,” Juniper swallowed hard. She understood this time.

From the lips of a Human (a child no less), came Juniper’s real Faerie name. And instantly, the two were bound together; Juniper as slave and servant, to be summoned at the fancy of master Emily, Human child, aged five and three quarters.

After that, whenever she woke, Emily called the name. And Juniper would come sing her to sleep; four times a night or more. 

Exhausted, Juniper found her work beginning to suffer — she couldn’t harvest fast enough to keep up with the Pixie Dust.